


build it up to burn it down

by rbbsbb



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Grinding, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 11:54:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17161535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rbbsbb/pseuds/rbbsbb
Summary: Having sex isn’t some gateway to feelings.They still hate one another, dicks be damned.





	build it up to burn it down

**Author's Note:**

> random draft that's been sitting in my doc for a few months. figured i might as well post the smut even though i'll never finish the whole fic.
> 
> college au.

The first time Louis finds himself in Harry’s grip, nothing spiteful in the way he’s being held at the waist and pressed back against the cool, gravelly cement of the training building, he’s sure that he’s felt it all.    
  
Hating someone isn’t supposed to be soft and warm, lips gliding against lips, fingernails clawing for more. Louis’ not supposed to feel an ache between his legs where Harry touches, not supposed to choke on his spit as Harry’s silky, mint-stained mouth leaves a trail of wet down the hollow of his throat.   
  
It’s conflicting how his body acts on instinct, pulling his worst enemy closer in an attempt to wrap himself in the warmth. He's spent so much time hating this boy, trying to find his weak spot, a place to jab and prod in an attempt to leave scars, that suddenly wanting nothing more than to press as close as he can get leaves his mind foggy and nerves on fire.

Like there’s pure adrenaline in his veins, Louis’ holding on tight, as if his body has wanted this for so long. The air outside is cold, winter snow starting to fall around them, but everything is so, so hot. 

“Am I doing good yet?” Harry asks between bites to Louis’ collarbone. He isn't looking directly at him, but Louis can feel the smirk on his lips —the victory in it—and he's so weak in the knees that he can't be bothered to play hard to get. 

Instead of replying, he reaches down to push Harry’s big palm harder against his crotch, grinding against the taller boy as to put him to use. It’s so good, so unbelievably good.

“Just shut up, okay?” He’s panting into Harry’s shoulder, knows that there’s no coming back from this. “Do something or fuck off.”

Harry chuckles, seems so cool and collected as he drags his fingers across the seam of Louis’ sweats, hot breath fanning across his cheeks and chin and lips. It should be disgusting, should make Louis shiver in pure hatred. Instead, he's shivering from lust, from how he would probably drop to his knees if all Harry would do is ask. 

“Christ,” Harry whispers, so quiet that if they weren’t so close Louis would think he was talking to himself. He’s hard in his pants, pressing the weight of it against Louis’ thigh. “How did we get here?” 

Louis wants to sputter, throw the blame in his face because Harry was the one to kiss him—the one to drag Louis over to the corner that they’re tucked away in and grope him into the state that they’re both in, breathing heavy and turned on. It doesn’t take a genius to understand that that's not what he meant, though, so he just sighs, shaking his head into Harry’s neck. 

Everything is so messy between the pair of them, but it’s too much thinking to get into it all. 

That’s a conversation for later, if at all. Right now, Louis’ drunk off the feeling of Harry’s warmth, the hard press of his chest, the friction that Harry’s supplying right where Louis wants it. 

Harry attaches their mouths again, biting at Louis’ bottom lip hard enough to hurt. 

It makes Louis hiss at him, grip onto his shoulders just a little bit harder. They’re rolling together, creating a heat wave during winter. With Louis’ dick straining against his joggers, hard and making him lightheaded, he can’t help the way that he shudders as Harry grips him tighter, feeling up his length and tugging at it from over the fabric. 

Harry’s grinding against his thigh as he works, but all of his attention is on Louis, on how Louis is huffing into the air, at how Louis’ so hard that he gasps with each upstroke. 

Before Louis can think better of it, and before he’s able to stop him, Harry fittles with the hem of Louis’ pants and slides his hand inside, the skin of his wrist cool against Louis’ belly, his pelvis. 

At the contact of skin on skin, Louis throws his head back against the cement, reveling in the way pain shoots throughout his skull. Harry immediately finds his wet tip, wrapping his long, calloused fingers around it, grinning as soon as he feels it. 

“Got you this wet, hm?” Harry wonders on an exhale, and his forehead is pressed right up against Louis’ chest as he peeks through the opening of his joggers, trying to get a glance at what Louis is packing. 

It’s too overwhelming, the way that Harry’s usual obnoxious behavior makes Louis tremble. He feels owned like this, at the mercy of the one person he was never meant to want. 

“Could be wetter,” Louis supplies, sounding out of breath. He brings a hand up to push into Harry’s soft curls, fingers tangling with the wispy ends of them. 

Harry only huffs at Louis’ bluff, choosing instead to work just a little bit harder. He runs a thumb over Louis’ slit, spreading the precome as far as it will go. Louis lets out a harsh  _ hmph _ , biting at his tongue, and he tugs on Harry’s locks as he locks his knees in place so he doesn’t go tumbling down with each twist of Harry’s wrist. 

It feels so much better than Louis cares to admit, and knowing that Harry’s just as worked up is the only thing that keeps him breathing. He isn’t the only one going down, not the only one forgetting his common decency. 

As Harry pulls his hand free to lick into his palm, Louis gulps and watches, eyes a bit fuzzy at the way that Harry stares right into him as his wet tongue licks at the skin that’s just touched Louis’ cock. 

“You’re so worked up,” Harry muses, sticking his hand back in. The slide is so much easier like this, and Louis’ breath comes out a foggy mist between them. 

Louis sneaks his hand down to fit between his thigh and Harry’s clothed dick, rubbing at him while Harry jerks him off. “You’re one to talk.” 

Harry laughs, all genuine. The sight of something so sweet and not at all mean coming from Harry turns Louis on more than the grinding, the kissing, the way they’re practically in the open for anyone to see. It’s only a little bit startling in the moment.

The feeling down low gets more dirty and hot than before when Harry’s starts tugging lower, gripping Louis’ cock like a vice as his hand works its way closer and closer to his base, to his balls. Louis gasps as soon as Harry’s finger nudge at them, and Harry seems to notice because he moves so that his wet palm is pressed right up against his length as he starts to roll Louis’ balls between his fingers. 

“Jesus,  _ fuck _ ,” Louis hisses, gripping tight on Harry’s dick as he clenches up. 

Harry smirks, and whispers, “Not quite,” when he inches just a tad lower, fingering at the skin just behind Louis’ balls. And, Louis will never admit it, but he starts to see stars. 

He’s so worked up already, just from having Harry’s mouth on his own, but with the wet friction of riding Harry’s wrist, and the persistent press of Harry’s fingers against his taint, so close to where he’s clenching his hole and feeling so wholly empty all of a sudden, Louis realizes just how close to coming he is. It’s too embarrassing to admit. 

“Stop teasing me, asshole,” Louis mutters, and he angles his head so that he’s capturing Harry’s lips against his own, and the filthy, wet slide of it makes Louis’ heart skip a beat. 

Harry grabs hold of Louis’ prick again, giving a small, flirty, “As you wish,” right against Louis’ mouth, before jerking him off in earnest. 

He starts stroking fast, his big, warm hand pulling at Louis from his base to tip, twisting his wrist so that he’s covering the whole things with the glide of his palm. 

When Louis starts to pant, breathing heavy because it feels that good, he’s so spaced out—completely fixated on the feel of Harry pressing into him, Harry’s breath mixing with his own, Harry’s big fucking hand working Louis up—it’s as if they’re nowhere and everywhere at once. There are cosmos in the sky, and the sunlight is waning in the distance, but Louis’ so caught up in how close to coming he is that he doesn’t realize he’s freezing, or that Harry’s letting out soft moans between them as he starts to ride against Louis’ hand, or that snow is starting to settle in the grass around them. 

It hits him all at once, the feeling. Harry tugs it out of him, biting down on Louis’ collarbone as pure ecstasy washes through Louis’ stomach, his chest, his dick. He comes all in Harry’s hand, creaming up his pants as Harry smiles against Louis’ skin and works him through it.

And, Louis nearly drops, because even though he’s standing up and he’s in the arms of a boy he bloody hates, it’s one of the best orgasms Louis has ever had. His toes are still curling as he comes down from his high, and after the blood stops pumping behind his eardrums, he realizes that he’s been whining, high and raspy, into the air. 

His face flushes, but only for a minute, because Harry’s still jerking at his sensitive, spent cock, and it’s starting to hurt. Louis lets go of Harry’s hair and reaches down to grab his arm, pulling his wrist out.

It’s covered in his come, dripping all over the pair of them from how much of it there is. 

“Look at that,” Harry murmurs, still grinding against Louis’ thigh. 

For a moment Louis’ so hazy, completely wrecked where he stands. When Harry lifts his hand to his own mouth, though, and gives Louis a daring look as he starts to suck on the tips of his fingers, soaked with Louis’ come, Louis nearly blacks out. 

It’s hotter than it should be, especially since he’s come down from it all and can think a bit straighter now. Louis has no choice but to rip Harry’s hand away so that he can get back at his mouth, pressing his slippery with spit lips right up against Harry’s. Immediately he can taste himself, the salty slick presence of it so heavy on Harry’s tongue that Louis starts to wobble. 

Harry doesn’t bother to ask Louis for help, choosing instead to box him in against the wall completely, grinding up into his belly with such dedicated rolls of his hips that he’s got Louis weightless in his wake, held up by the sheer force of it. Louis’ hands find his hips instantly, and if he weren’t so worn out already he might could find it in himself to get hard again.

“C’mon, Harry,” Louis whispers, pressing a wet kiss to his cheek, then his chin on a hard ruck upwards. “Hurry up.”

The field is still empty, and there’s no one in sight, but Louis’ cheeks are burning at the thought of being walked up on. He’s stone cold sober now, able to see from his peripheral, but Harry’s still so into it, working his clothed dick over the the swell of Louis’ belly, grunting with each rut.

Louis reaches behind him and pulls Harry in closer by his waist, scratching his nails into the soft curve of his muscles. 

And, it only takes Harry another minute before he lets out a hushed sob, burying his face in Louis’ neck as he presses in close. His body shudders under Louis’ hold, his hot breath making Louis’ skin tingle where it warms. 

Once he’s come, finished himself off by using Louis’ body, his mouth, his embrace, they both just stand there together for another moment, breathing into the air in short, white puffs of air.

It’s so cold, Louis can tell, but even after he starts to shiver from the breeze he doesn’t make to pull away. He’s almost too afraid to.

Eventually, Harry drags his face from Louis’ neck, looking him in the eyes with an almost startled expression. His cheeks are all blotchy and red, and sweat has formed along his hairline, across his cupid’s bow, above the swell of his collarbones. 

Harry doesn’t let him go just yet, moving to hold Louis by the hips. Faintly, Louis’ aware that he’s probably smearing come across the fabric of his joggers, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He’s too confused, and shocked, and still a little turned on.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says out of nowhere, looking genuinely that. 

They don’t have soft, tender moments, Harry and Louis. There hasn’t been a moment in the whole time that they’ve known each other where they weren’t trying to antagonize, or belittle, or start an argument. Now, though, in this moment—Harry looks beyond apologetic. 

It’s only a little bit offensive, because Louis understands. 

“It’s okay,” Louis tells him. He suddenly feels unsure of his grip on Harry’s waist, but doesn’t know if he should take his hands away. Louis can’t be the one to break the peace, to shatter this stolen moment of truce. 

Harry doesn’t make him, being the first one to break by taking a step away. 

He gives Louis a once over, eyes lingering on the wet spot in front of his crotch, and drizzle of come across his t-shirt. When he finds Louis’ eyes again, Louis’ skin goes hot under the attention. 

It’s almost like he’s seeing Harry in a new light. A softer, gentler one. 

Harry looks so young all of a sudden, so unsure in the way that he stands, and shakes from the cold, and glances around as if to ask  _ did this really happen? _

Out of nowhere, and loud enough to have Louis jump, Harry says, all cold and short, “We should go,” and looks away from Louis, staring intently at the ground. He seems almost ashamed. 

At his words, and his reaction, Louis winces. He has no right to be upset, because they aren’t friends even. This was an accident, spurred on by a fueled argument during a training session. Having sex isn’t some gateway to feelings. 

They still hate one another, dicks be damned. 

No matter the fact, Louis can’t help the way anger starts to bubble in his core. Harry’s ashamed of him, of what they’ve done. He’s used Louis up, gotten a decent orgasm from him, and now Harry’s ready to pretend nothing has happened. 

Louis leans off the wall and glares at him, stating, “Don’t tell anyone about this.” 

He probably wouldn’t, especially with how regretful he looks right now, but Louis’ got to say it for his own sake. Another jab for the road, he figures. 

Before Harry can lift his eyes again, face what they’ve just done, Louis turns on his heel and heads for the exit. 

If he spends the entire bus ride home with angry tears in his eyes, and heavy regret sitting on top of his chest, and complete irritation at how he can feel his own come cooling against his skin, Louis’ not going to say it. Harry has always been a prick, and he always will be. 

Nothing has changed—nothing ever will.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos very appreciated. thanks for reading. hope you enjoyed! ♡


End file.
